


Back to the Beginning

by SouthSideStory



Category: Naruto
Genre: F/M, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-18
Updated: 2015-08-18
Packaged: 2018-04-15 08:40:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4600197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SouthSideStory/pseuds/SouthSideStory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sasuke looks so peaceful, sleeping. Watching him now, with those vigilant eyes closed, it’s hard to believe the things this boy has done. The havoc he can wreak on an enemy, a friend. Or a young girl’s tender heart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Back to the Beginning

_Tell me you love me_

_Come back and haunt me_

_Oh and I rush to the start_

_Running in circles, chasing our tails_

_Coming back as we are_

* * *

Sasuke looks so peaceful, sleeping. Watching him now, with those vigilant eyes closed, it’s hard to believe the things this boy has done. The havoc he can wreak on an enemy, a friend. Or a young girl’s tender heart.

Sakura remembers the night he left like it was yesterday. The harvest moon overhead, round and bright. Her futile confession of one-sided love, offering to give him everything she had, everything she could be. How she promised to make him happy. If only he would let her; if only he would stay.

Not that it means anything now, what passed between them on that night three years ago. Perhaps Sasuke doesn’t even remember it. Why should he have bothered? She never meant much to him.

Now they’re in a private ward at the hospital, ANBU stationed just outside the door: she, Naruto, Kakashi, and a sleeping Sasuke. They drugged him (with a sedative of her own making) so that he wouldn’t wake and disrupt their attempt to return him to Konoha. He should be coming out of it soon, and Sakura hasn’t yet decided whether to be here when he wakes.

* * *

The last thing he remembers is his brother. A bloodied, two-fingered tap to the forehead, some grisly mockery of the gesture from their childhood. It was always “Maybe next time” or “See you later” with Itachi. Meaning _goodbye_ , accompanied by that irritating poke, so is that what his brother was trying to tell him in those last moments?

Sasuke opens his eyes, finds himself in a sterile, white room dappled with sunlight. It smells like disinfectant and something else (apples maybe, but that could be his imagination). There’s still the taste of blood on the back of his tongue, like copper in his mouth. Someone has washed him and healed him, and now he lies in a hospital bed, weak but alive.

Naruto looks up, blue eyes wide, and says, “You’re awake,” and it’s only at the startling sound of his voice that Sasuke realizes he is not alone.

_I’m in Konoha_. Instinct tells him to reach for a katana that, of course, is not there. But he’s so exhausted, tired right down to his bones. His reason for leaving the village is dead with his brother, and really, what does it matter where he is?

Kakashi stands, approaches the bed, and asks, “How are you feeling?”

Sasuke ignores him, looks from his old teacher to Naruto to—no one, because Sakura isn’t here. He almost asks after her, why she didn’t wait on him to wake with the rest of Team 7, but he tells himself he doesn’t care and it doesn’t matter.

Naruto frowns. “Are you all right, Sasuke?”

What a stupid question. “You’re an idiot,” Sasuke says, and he finds that his voice is rough from disuse. How long was he out?

His teammate smiles. “And you’re a bastard.”

There’s only one thing he cares about, so Sasuke asks, “What happened to Itachi’s body?”

“We recovered it and brought it back to Konoha with us,” Kakashi says. “The Hokage is deciding what to do with it.”

Whether to give Itachi a proper burial, or burn him and pour the ashes down a garbage chute, Sasuke supposes. It all depends on whether Tsunade is so kind that she’ll honor his brother’s years of service as a Konoha ninja, or hard-hearted enough to ignore them and dispose of a rogue shinobi’s remains in the most callous way possible.

“What’s going to be done with me?” Sasuke asks.

“The Hokage is deciding that too,” Kakashi says.  

“It’s gonna be okay, though,” Naruto is quick to say. “Granny Tsunade understands.”

Understands what? He’s been a missing nin for years, but Sasuke supposes that if someone went to the trouble of healing him, then the Hokage doesn’t plan to treat his defection in the typical way.

There is an apple on his bedside table, candy red, shining as if polished. _From Sakura?_ he wonders. Sasuke picks it up and bites into the crisp flesh. The fruit is a little tart, not too sweet, and he hasn’t eaten in so long that his stomach feels empty. Hollow, just like the rest of him.

* * *

Shizune tells her that Tsunade pardoned Sasuke, but that he is on probation, forbidden from leaving Konoha for six months. She hears from Naruto that he was released from the hospital and assigned a new apartment. Kakashi says nothing, but she’s sure that he and everyone else all want to know why she hasn’t once visited Sasuke in the last seven days.

The answer is simple enough: Sakura is afraid to speak to him. Terrified, even, because the boy she once worshipped seems to have grown into an unrecognizable man. She wishes her feelings for him were nothing more than a girlish infatuation, a distraction she could grow out of. But there is nothing fleeting or insubstantial about her love for Uchiha Sasuke, and it seems she’s destined to suffer it until the day she dies.

“You’ve barely touched your dinner,” Okaasan says. “Are you all right?”

Sakura nods, forces a smile for her mother’s sake. “I’m fine.”

Otousan is gone tonight, escorting some dignitary or another across the Fire Country. A simple mission that should take no more than a week, but Sakura misses him just the same.

Okaasan takes a sip of her soup, then says, “You’ve been sad ever since Sasuke returned.”

Her mother says it like he had a choice. As if Sasuke strode into Konoha of his own free will, instead of being drugged and dragged back.

“I’m not sure how to feel about it,” Sakura admits. She stirs her own soup, hopes that this will distract Okaasan from the fact that she’s not eating it.

“Perhaps you should go visit him,” her mother says gently. “It might help you sort things out.”

Or it could confuse her more. Seeing his handsome face again, hearing his voice, smelling the open fire scent that he always seems to carry on his hair and clothes. There are a thousand small things that she loves about him, no matter what kind of strangers they’ve become, and Sasuke has eyes that miss nothing. He’ll see right through her in an instant.  

“Maybe,” Sakura says, but what she means is, _I don’t think so_.

The next day, she asks Tsunade to assign her double hours at the hospital. She avoided the place while Sasuke recovered there, so she’s behind, and this is as good of an excuse as any.

Except Tsunade is more discerning than her mother. “You can’t hide from him forever,” her shishou says. “Konoha is only so big.”

* * *

The desire to kill Itachi is the one constant Sasuke has hung onto throughout the latter half of his short but tumultuous life. He sacrificed everything to grow stronger, to harden his heart against weaknesses and distractions, so that someday he could face his brother and survive. And now that it’s done, now that Itachi is dead, Sasuke finds that he is not relieved. He isn’t anything, except tired.

He never thought ahead of this moment, didn’t allow himself the luxury of considering life after victory. His singular purpose has been fulfilled, so what does he do with the rest of his days?

Sasuke spends the next few weeks alone in his new apartment, cleaning and re-cleaning every spotless surface, cooking simple meals, reading books he has no interest in. Naruto drops in every afternoon, predictable as clockwork, and drags him out of the house. Sometimes they eat at Ichiraku and sometimes they spar, always wrecking whatever training ground that was chosen for the day. Naruto remains every bit as irritating as Sasuke remembers, but he appreciates his old teammate’s efforts just the same. Kakashi visits too, from time to time, if much more sporadically than Naruto.

Not Sakura, though. It’s been three weeks since he returned to Konoha (not that Sasuke is counting), and she still hasn’t come by to say so much as hello. Why this bothers him, he isn’t sure. Maybe it’s because he remembers a girl who loved him, who offered to give up everything just to stay by his side, and he hoped that this one thing hadn’t changed.

On the last day of November, he sees Sakura at the market district. She stands well away from him, but it’s impossible to miss that eye-catching hair of hers. He watches her browse through several vendors’ wares and buy fresh fruit from Mr. Yaguchi. Apples, he notices.

A small child falls, scrapes his knee, and begins to wail in the middle of the square. Sakura hurries over, talks to the boy until he calms, and repairs his damaged skin with the precision and haste of an experienced medic. She stands, wipes her hands on her plain skirt, and looks him right in the eyes. There’s a moment’s indecision, and then he sees only the back of her shirt, the Haruno circle white on red, as she walks away from him.

* * *

“Do you still love him?” Ino asks, nosy as always.

“Of course not,” Sakura lies. “I’m not stupid.”

They’ve just finished sparring, and now they sit side by side in the grass, breathing heavily and passing a bottle of cool water back and forth between them.

“Uh huh,” Ino says. She takes a long drink, wipes sweat from her brow. “So why won’t you go see him then? I heard Naruto tell Shikamaru that you haven’t spoken to Sasuke at all since he got back.”

“I don’t know what to say to him.”

She remembers last Saturday, at the market, when she caught Sasuke watching her. Standing stock still in the middle of a crowd, blatantly staring. She’d been so tempted to approach him, because he didn’t look well at all, but cowardice overcame concern and she ran away.

“Start with hello,” Ino suggests.

Sakura rolls her eyes. “Very helpful, Pig. Thank you.”

Ino smiles and says, “Anytime, Forehead.”

That afternoon, Naruto comes by her house and asks if she would like to grab lunch with him and Sasuke. “We’ll go somewhere besides Ichiraku, I swear.”

“Not today,” Sakura says, and she smiles gently to soften the refusal. “I have to be at the hospital soon. Maybe some other time.”

Naruto frowns, but he doesn’t push her. “All right then. See you later, Sakura-chan.”

That evening, in bed, she tosses and turns, trying to think of anything in world besides Sasuke, but every time she closes her eyes she sees his face. She remembers a boy who snapped bones for her in the Forest of Death, who left her on a stone bench with nothing but a “thank you.” How many times has she turned those words over in her mind? Trying to unravel some secret meaning that almost certainly isn’t there.

Someone knocks, and Sakura wonders who could possibly be calling at this late hour. She goes downstairs, opens the door, and finds Sasuke on her front steps, hands in his pockets, rain-soaked and surly. He looks exhausted but beautiful, and when he says, “Hey,” Sakura can’t think of one word to say in return.

_Start with hello_ , she remembers Ino teasing, but that isn’t what comes out of her mouth. “What are you doing here?” Sakura asks.

“Looking for you,” he says. “Can I come in?”

“Yeah,” she says, because whatever problems lie between them, Sakura isn’t discourteous enough to leave him standing on her stoop in the middle of a winter storm.

She gets a towel for Sasuke, so he can at least dry off a little, and invites him to sit in the living room with her. It’s a good thing her parents are gone on missions of their own for the next few days, because she can’t imagine they’d be thrilled with her for inviting a boy inside at half past midnight.

“Is there something you need?” Sakura is suddenly aware of how little she’s wearing. Just a blue nightgown over her underwear, and it’s too-thin, flimsy.

“Why haven’t I seen you?” he asks, blunt and brusque.

“I’ve been busy,” Sakura says, her stock response.

He looks at her skeptically and asks, “Busy for a whole month?”

Sakura blushes. When he says it like that she feels embarrassed and a little ashamed.

“Why did you bring me back here if you wanted nothing to do with me?” There’s a hint of anger in his even voice now, and she wonders what it takes to draw out his temper these days.

“Naruto is the one who wouldn’t give up,” Sakura says, as if she had nothing to do with Sasuke’s retrieval. Like she didn’t spend years training, not only to better herself, but also because she wanted to help bring him home. “Why do you care anyway?”

“I don’t,” he says, but that doesn’t make any sense. Why search her out in the middle of the night to ask her questions if the answers don’t matter?

They sit quietly, not looking at each other. The house is silent except for the relentless beat of rain against the roof and the occasional clap of thunder. “It doesn’t sound like it’s going to let up out there anytime soon,” Sakura says. “Do you want to sleep in the guest room?”

Sasuke hesitates, and really, she expects him to turn down this courtesy, but then he says, “Yeah. Thanks.”

* * *

Sleeping under the same roof as Sakura makes him feel oddly at ease. He hasn’t slept well since Itachi died, but the guest bed in the Haruno house is soft, plush even, and the covers are thick and warm. She gave him something dry to wear, worn out men’s pajamas that must belong to her father, so Sasuke is comfortable enough.

He falls asleep quickly and easily, and hours later, when he wakes from a dreamless night, he feels better rested than he has in a long time. Sasuke stretches, changes back into his own clothes (now barely damp), and heads downstairs.

He’d planned to slip away quietly, but Sakura catches him before he makes it halfway to the door. “Going to sneak out?” she asks, sounding amused.

Sasuke shrugs. “I didn’t think you’d care to see any more of me.”

Some uncomfortable expression flits across her face, guilt or regret maybe, and she says, “I was very rude to you last night, and I’m sorry for that. You just surprised me, showing up here, and I didn’t really know how to react.”

He surprised himself, and Sasuke still doesn’t know why he ran halfway across Konoha in the pouring rain to knock on this girl’s door. “It’s fine,” he says.

Sakura gives him a tentative smile. “Would you like to stay for breakfast?” she asks. “I made tamagoyaki. You like that, don’t you?”

He does, although Sasuke is surprised she remembers this. There was a time when she made it her business to learn everything about him, but that starry-eyed, genin girl seems so far away from the Haruno Sakura who stands before him now.

What else does he have to do? Every day of his probation passes more monotonously than the last. So Sasuke says, “Sure,” and follows her to the kitchen.  

The food is only fine, nothing particularly special, but it’s the first meal that someone has made _for_ him in many years, and Sasuke enjoys it, perhaps more than he should. He steals glances at Sakura between bites, taking in the many changes three years have brought. Her face has lost its childish roundness, her slender body has more pronounced curves, and she’s grown into the forehead that got her picked on throughout their Academy days. She was a pretty girl when he knew her, but now she’s beautiful.

He remembers how he once secretly savored the sweetness of contact any time she found some excuse to touch him, and he wonders what it would feel like if she touched him now.

* * *

After the night he spent at her house, Sakura finds that she can no longer ignore Sasuke. Seeing him again, hearing him speak, reawakens memories of the boy he once was, and she simply doesn’t have the willpower to avoid him any longer.

She goes to his apartment, marvels at how perfectly tidy it is, every surface shining, nothing out of place. It’s utterly undecorated and barely looks lived in. Of course, Sasuke had no personal possessions to bring back with him to Konoha, so it’s not as though he has much to leave lying around.

“What would you like to do?” she asks.

Sasuke shrugs. “Whatever you want.”

Sakura frowns and says, “That hardly seems fair.”

When he doesn’t answer, she sighs and runs a hand through her hair. “All right then. Let’s take a walk.”

They don’t have any particular destination in mind, but somehow their feet carry them to the road that leads out of the village. Sakura stops, stares at the stone bench where he once left her unconscious and abandoned. She sits there and closes her eyes.

“I wish you had stayed,” she says softly. Sakura looks up at him, still standing, his dark silhouette outlined by the sun. “It was so hard without you, Sasuke.”

She could tell him about training with Tsunade, learning from one of the legendary Sannin, just like him and Naruto, trying to make a useful ninja out of herself. Sakura wasn’t born with any great abilities, and she inherited no kekkei genkai or special clan techniques. But she is persistent, dedicated, and her hard work was enough to make her one of the strongest kunoichi in Konoha. Most of this she did for herself, but she also wanted to become a shinobi that Sasuke would respect.

Does he even notice how she’s changed? Does he care at all?

He sits beside her, leaving enough space between them that there’s nothing intimate about it. Except this place is more than intimate for them. It is at the heart of who they were, who they have become.

* * *

“I used to avoid coming here,” Sakura says, “because I didn’t want to think about that night. I didn’t want to remember begging you not to go and still losing you anyway.”

“I had to leave,” Sasuke says. He would never have become strong enough to face Itachi if he had stayed in Konoha. In part because there were things Orochimaru could teach him that no one else would. But mostly, Sasuke knows he left because of Kakashi and Naruto and Sakura. Being part of Team 7 made him weak, tricked him into thinking for a moment that things like friendship and affection weren’t so far out of reach. That he could have something like a normal life, if only he gave up his desire for revenge.

“You didn’t have to,” Sakura says. “You _chose_ to go.”

“I guess you’re right,” Sasuke says.

He had two options, and he picked hate over love. Vengeance over a boy who would never give up on him and a girl whose adoration was both wanted and unwanted; it was always a game of push and pull with Sakura, but he never could figure out the rules.

“You did what you set out to do: your brother is dead,” she says. “So what now?”

“I don’t know.” Sasuke feels the gap between them closing, Sakura drawing nearer, infringing on his personal space the way she used to do when they were children playing at war. Part of him enjoys it, the heat of her skin and smell of her hair (vanilla shampoo), but Sasuke doesn’t allow himself to lean into her, to indulge in something as precious as touch.

“I can help you figure it out,” Sakura says, and she puts her hand on his, tentative and trembling. “If you’ll let me.”

He should tell her to mind her own business and leave him alone, because Sasuke is discovering that life without purpose is hardly life at all, and there’s nothing she can do to fix him.

This is what he should say, but when Sasuke speaks, he asks, “How would you do that?”

Sakura smiles, and her expression is so warm, so full of affection, that he wonders whether she might still love him—a thought that makes his blood run hot, his heart beat faster.

“Don’t you remember what it was like when we were all together? Me, you, Naruto, and Kakashi-sensei? You were happy then, weren’t you?”

Yes, of course Sasuke remembers. He had found something like contentment for the first time since his family was slaughtered, because he once again had people who were precious to him.

“You think we could go back to that?” Sasuke asks. “After everything that’s happened?”

_After everything I’ve done_.

“I don’t know for sure,” Sakura says, “but I think maybe, if we work for it, we could be a team again.”

Even though he knows it’s futile, that there’s no way to return to where they started, he says, “I can try.”

Sakura takes a deep breath, like she’s steeling herself for something, then says, “I missed you so much, Sasuke-kun. I—I’m glad you’re here.”

He’s been too numb since Itachi’s death to care where he is, much less be happy that he’s back in Konoha. But in this moment, with Sakura’s fingers laced with his and the warm sunlight on his face, Sasuke considers that perhaps it’s a good thing to be home. After all, he only broke his bonds with Team 7 because he needed to be unattached and disciplined, utterly devoted to killing his brother. Now that Itachi is gone, what’s to stop him from rebuilding his team?

“Thank you,” Sasuke says. Sakura can’t possibly know the depth of his gratitude, but that’s all right, because he prefers it this way.  

Her green eyes widen and her breath catches. This new Sakura no longer wears her heart on her sleeve, but it seems that, if he only pushes a little (playing that game again), he can find, beneath her composed exterior, the girl who once loved him.

* * *

She joins her teammates for lunch, and it’s so much like old times that Sakura can’t help but smile. Naruto eats bowl after bowl of ramen, babbling between slurps about how he’s going to make chunin as soon as the next exams roll around, while Sasuke silently attends to his own tonkotsu. Afterward, Naruto says goodbye and heads out for a mission to the Earth Country.

Sasuke and Sakura go to the Eleventh Training Ground to spar. She doesn’t use her chakra-enhanced strength, purely out of respect for Konoha’s earth, and Sasuke is fair enough not awaken his Sharingan. They agree to taijutsu only, and Sakura is unsurprised to find that he’s still frighteningly fast. Sasuke was always the quickest on his feet out of Team 7, but his years away have honed his reflexes so much that Sakura will be lucky to land a single hit. She may not have his speed, but she’s inventive and intuitive, and she remembers his style. There was a time when she knew his every move, and although he has learned many new techniques since they last trained together, Sasuke is still Sasuke, and Sakura knows how he fights.

They end the session after two hours, and then lie next to one another on the ground, trying to catch their breath. The cold air smells like rain, and dark clouds gather overhead, heavy with water, threatening to spill at any moment. It would be wise to return to her house now if she doesn’t want to get caught in a storm, but Sakura can’t quite make herself leave Sasuke’s side.

“How are you doing?” she asks, because he has looked exhausted ever since he was brought back to Konoha.

“Fine,” he says.

Sakura doesn’t believe this for an instant, but there’s no point in pushing him. Sasuke will speak when he wants to and not before.

“How about you?” he asks.

She would think he’s only inquiring out of courtesy, but Sakura knows he never has cared much about whether he’s being rude. “I’m good. Better, now that you’re home.”

It’s a bold thing to say, if true, and she feels her cheeks grow warm.

Sasuke looks at her curiously, like he’s trying to puzzle something out. She can sense that he’s on the verge of speaking, maybe wanting to ask a question, but instead of saying anything, he sits up, stands, and holds out a hand to her. Sakura takes it, blushing harder, and lets him pull her to her feet. He keeps his grasp on her hand for just a few moments longer than necessary, and in those slow-ticking seconds, she notices how tall he is. It makes her feel small next to him, delicate even.

Then Sasuke lets go of her and takes a step back. “We should get out of here before it rains,” he says.

“Yeah.” She follows him into the bustle of the village, and when they reach the road leading to her house, she starts to say goodbye—

But Sasuke asks, “Would you like to come to my place?”

Sakura tries not to imagine that this means anything. He’s probably just lonely, all by himself in that surgically clean apartment, a thought that makes her ache to hold him. She smiles and says, “Yeah.”

* * *

Sasuke isn’t sure why he invited Sakura over, but as soon as she steps inside his flat, he’s glad that he did. She’s much more serious than she used to be, so collected where once she was a riot of emotions, but Sakura still has a brightness to her. A sweet optimism that makes the people around her feel better. Between her disposition and her looks, is it any wonder that a half-dozen boys at the Academy had liked her? Not that she ever noticed those boys in return; Sakura was far too busy keeping her eye on him to care about anyone else.

They spend the afternoon playing poker, a pastime they picked up as genin, waiting on their lazy sensei to show up for missions. Sasuke has little interest in the game and less luck, so Sakura wins most of the hands easily. He’s willing to bet that she’s counting cards, using that keen intellect of hers to calculate probabilities and inform her every bet, check, and raise.

“You’ve improved a lot,” Sasuke says, and he tries not to sound irritated by this.

Sakura smiles apologetically. “Not really. I used to let you win.”

“What? Why?” he asks.

“I didn’t want you to get mad at me if I beat you. So I lost on purpose,” she says. “Isn’t that stupid?”

Sasuke is annoyed that he was the false winner of half a hundred poker matches with his teammates, a victor only because Sakura threw those games. “Pretty dumb, yeah,” he says. “I probably would have been impressed, if anything, not angry.”

“I did a lot of foolish things back then,” she says softly.

How should he interpret that? Does she mean that loving him was foolish?

It’s more difficult to read this new Sakura. Sasuke never gave her the sort of attention she lavished on him, of course, but he likes to think he once knew her better than anyone else—not a thing he can boast these days. That honor seems to belong to Naruto now. He doesn’t like that, but Sasuke has nobody to blame for it besides himself.

“We both did,” he says.

Sakura looks at the clock, and he can see on her face that she’s considering the hour. Weighing her parents’ worries against remaining with him.

_Pick me,_ Sasuke thinks, and he doesn’t care that it’s selfish. _Stay, just a little longer_.

She’s done the impossible and dispelled the loneliness he feels every time he opens the door to this cold apartment. He shouldn’t be surprised, though, because she’s always had that effect on him.

During his years away, he’d sometimes thought of Sakura. Usually in the dark hours, when he was trying to sleep on a hard bed in one outpost or another, Sasuke’s restless mind would draw up an image of her: short pink hair, green eyes, bright smile, graceful body. There were nights when he couldn’t stop thinking about the sound of her laugh, the beauty of her blush when he embarrassed her, how her hand felt in his (warm and secure and something like home). He always pushed those thoughts away, angry at himself, disgusted with his own weakness, his inability to set aside memories best forgotten.

“I should probably get back to my parents before I miss dinner,” Sakura says.

Sasuke does his best to keep his face expressionless, to hide his disappointment. “Right.”

He walks her to the door, but when they get there, Sakura hesitates. “Would you like to come with me?” she asks shyly. “I’m sure Okaasan and Otousan wouldn’t mind a guest.”

Dinner with the Haruno family? Sasuke can guess how that would go. Her friendly parents would be kind and welcoming, and he’d sit down for the first supper with a family that he’s had in years. He’d be reminded of the mother and father he no longer has, of the older brother who was nothing but a lie.

Sasuke crosses his arms over his chest. “I think I’ll just stay here.”

“Oh,” Sakura says, but she schools her features well enough that he can’t guess how she feels about his refusal. Then she smiles and says, “See you tomorrow,” sounding sunny and sure, and he wonders when exactly Sakura grew so confident that she would be with him every day.

He makes a simple meal for himself, eats, cleans his weapons, and then lies on his bed on top of the covers. Looks up at the ceiling and listens to the stark sound of emptiness, quiet as a grave. Sasuke is utterly alone again, a state he should be well adjusted to by now. But the truth is, he never has grown used to it.

* * *

Sakura might still be in love with Sasuke, but she does her best to keep from staring at him like the infatuated little girl she used to be. Sometimes it’s difficult, though—like now, when he’s leaning against his living room wall, hands in his pockets, looking bored, but very handsomely so.

Sasuke catches her looking and smirks, as if he knows exactly what she’s thinking.

“What are you smiling at?” Sakura asks.

“I guess some things are still the same,” Sasuke says, sounding smug.

“But I have changed,” she says. “You should be able to see that.”

“That’s not how I meant it, Sakura.” His dark eyes are unreadable. “Trust me, I know how different you are.”

Something about the way he says that makes her look away, unable to keep holding his gaze. Sakura grips her left arm, hugging herself.

“Let’s get out of here,” Sasuke says.

Sakura shivers as soon as she steps outside, pulls her coat closer to herself. Their mild and rainy December has finally given way to an icy January. It’s numbingly cold today, and the sky is pale from the promise of snow, the sun overbright with winter’s white clarity. Her breath fogs before her as they walk around the village in no special direction, a pastime Sasuke seems to enjoy and which Sakura finds aimless but pleasant.

As the afternoon waxes into evening, they come across a festival. She can’t but help but point at the ice sculptures, of animals and people and fantastic creatures, and say, “Look, Sasuke. Do you want to check it out?”

He shrugs and follows her into the crowd. Sakura smiles at the carved figures, admiring the hard work someone put into making such beautiful things. “Do you ever wonder what sort of life you would have had if you weren’t a shinobi?” she asks.

“Not really,” Sasuke says. He doesn’t elaborate. (Of course he doesn’t.)

“Well, I think about it every now and then,” she says. “I like to imagine the different things I could have done, could have been. There’s a whole world out there, you know? Sometimes it’s easy to forget that, hidden away in Konoha, where nearly everyone is like us.”

“I’ve been all over the nations now,” Sasuke says, “and people are the same everywhere, shinobi or civilian.”

“What do you mean by that?” she asks.

“No matter where you go, people are self-centered and hateful,” he says. “Not that I’m any better.”

Sakura frowns. “You _are_ better than that.”

He looks at her, clearly skeptical. “You still think so?”

“Yes,” she says, without a moment’s hesitation. “You’re a good man, Sasuke, no matter what mistakes you’ve made.”

It starts to snow, a light fall that dusts her shoulders and gets caught in her hair. Some enterprising person is selling blankets and hot chocolate, and Sakura is quick to part with her ryo to buy both for she and Sasuke. As the fireworks begin, they take seats on the ground, drinking sweet chocolate from their steaming cups. To Sakura’s surprise, he sits right next to her and wraps his blanket around both of them. When she looks to Sasuke, curious, he just says, “It’s cold.”

They’re close enough to kiss, and somehow he’s warm even in the middle of winter. She presses closer, rests her head on his shoulder, too needy to hold herself back.

“Comfortable?” he asks, sounding wry.

“Very,” she says, smiling. “You make a surprisingly good pillow.”

They stay like this through the whole fireworks display, and Sasuke never once pulls away from her.

* * *

Kakashi, Naruto, and Sakura do their best to keep him occupied throughout his probation, but they still have missions, together as often as not, and so Sasuke finds himself alone again. None of the other rookies has extended a hand of friendship, and he doesn’t particularly care if they do. He’s only just relearning how to let his teammates back in—to trust, to care and be cared for—and that’s difficult enough.

When he’s left to his own devices for too long, Sasuke’s mind usually takes him back to his parents and Itachi, the childhood that was stolen from him. During the day he thinks of them, and at night he dreams about finding his parents’ bodies, bloodied and lifeless. Wakes in a cold sweat to the sound of his own shouts, wrapped up in the sheets he’s twisted around his legs, thrashing in his sleep.

The nightmares are worse in Konoha, so close to the source of his family’s ruin. Tonight, they’re bad enough to drive him out of bed and onto the streets. He wanders around the village, thankful for the clean winter air to clear his head. It’s two o’clock in the morning, and it’s selfish to wake Sakura, but Sasuke knows that if he can only be near her, he’ll feel better. He’s smart enough not to just knock on her front door this time, because what if her parents are home? Instead, Sasuke raps his knuckles against her window.

Sakura is a light sleeper, like most shinobi, and she wakes immediately. She gets up, opens the window, and says, “Sasuke?”

He climbs inside and asks, “Can I stay here tonight?”

Her pretty green eyes widen. “Here? In—in my room?”

“Yeah,” Sasuke says, and it isn’t until he hears himself that he realizes how desperate he sounds.

Sakura tilts her head to the side and asks, “Are you all right?”

No, he isn’t. He hasn’t been all right in years and probably never will be again, but Sasuke lies, says, “I’m fine. Just tired.”

“Okay,” Sakura says. She’s still looking at him like she’s worried, like he’s something fragile that might break, and Sasuke hates it. What was he thinking? He shouldn’t have come here and let her see him like this.

But right when he’s about to tell her never mind, that he’ll go home, Sakura gets back in bed and pats the spot beside her. He’s too weak to return to his empty apartment and another sleepless night, so Sasuke takes the place next to her. This bed isn’t big enough for them to sleep without touching, and now he’s aware of Sakura’s heat, her soft breaths, the vanilla smell of her hair. How she’s wearing a thin nightgown, the sort of thing she didn’t expect a boy to see. He imagines she’s got nothing but panties on beneath it, and—

Sasuke stops that line of thought before it can get out of hand.

He falls asleep quickly, dreams of nothing, and when he wakes, morning sunlight is streaming in through the window. At some point during the night, Sakura wrapped her arm around him, and now she sleeps on, nestled close to his chest. She’s a sweet burden, warm against his body, and he finds himself kissing her forehead before he’s even thought about doing it.

“Sasuke-kun?” she asks, breathless, opening her eyes.

He tries to pull away, but there’s only so far he can go. “Don’t,” Sakura says, and she looks up at him steadily. “Please stay.”

All of a sudden, it might as well be three years ago, a full moon shining down on the road out of Konoha, with this girl begging him not to go. And if he couldn’t do that, she promised to give up her friends and family and home, to go with him. There was a time when she would have done anything for him, when her feelings were pure, unconditional, more than he could accept.

“Do you still love me?” he asks.

Sakura glances down, maybe embarrassed by his question, and says, “What does it matter?”

“It matters.” Sasuke isn’t sure which answer he’s more afraid of, yes or no, but he’s sick of wondering. He wants the truth.

The smile Sakura gives him is tender, hesitant. She says, “I’ll always love you, Sasuke.”

There was a time, before they were teammates, when her affections annoyed him—but once they truly got to know each other, it didn’t take long for him to feel differently. To quietly crave her attention, to savor those moments when Sakura was forward enough to touch him. (She was always his greatest weakness, and leaving her behind hurt more than he’s willing to reflect on.)

“I sleep better when I’m near you,” he says, even though he’s ashamed to admit it.

Sakura snuggles closer, and when she speaks he can feel her breath against his neck. “You can come here any time,” she says. “And if you want, I’ll spend the night at your place every now and then. How does that sound?”

“Good,” Sasuke says. He plays with her short hair, enjoying the softness of it.

Maybe he shouldn’t use her comfort to gain much-needed rest for himself, but the promise of a few dreamless nights is too tempting a prospect to pass up.

He’s no good for her, Sasuke knows that, but Sakura insists on loving him anyway, and why is that such a relief?

* * *

Winter melts into spring, ice giving way to green leaves and fragrant blossoms, filling the air with the fresh scent of things reborn. By Sakura’s seventeenth birthday, Konoha’s mornings are sunny again, bright as they are warm. When she’s not working at the hospital or carrying out a mission, she spends her days with Team 7, training and sharing meals and playing games to pass the time.

Ever since Sasuke knocked on Sakura’s window and claimed a spot in her bed, they haven’t spent one night apart. Usually, he sneaks into her room, but they’ve slept at his apartment too. She dislikes lying to her parents, saying she has a graveyard shift at the hospital when she doesn’t, but it’s worth the privacy of sleeping beside Sasuke at his own place.

He still has dreams that make him thrash and cry, but Sasuke says they’re fewer and farther between with her by his side. Tonight is a bad night, and he wakes her at four in the morning—teeth gritted, kicking, tears wetting his cheeks. Sakura gently shakes him and murmurs soothing nonsense until he opens his eyes. Then Sasuke wipes at his face, hands shaking, and lets her hug him.

“I’m here,” she whispers. “I’m here with you.”

Slowly, his breathing grows less erratic and the trembling stops. Sasuke lies on his back, pulls her on top of him. She settles against his body, her legs straddling his hips. Usually he turns away from her after he recovers from his dreams. But sometimes, like now, Sasuke wants her touching him, can’t keep her close enough.

“I love you,” she says, since he seems to like it when she tells him that. Sakura suspects this is simply because there isn’t anyone else in his life to say it, and that only makes her want to care for him all the more fiercely.

Something’s different tonight, though. Sasuke isn’t just holding her; he brushes her shoulders, runs his hands up and down her sides, grabs her hips, and the warmth of his touch is burning through her nightgown, making her heart beat faster and her breath catch.

“Sasuke?” she whispers, making a question out of his name, but he doesn’t answer.

He nuzzles her neck, wraps an arm around her, runs his fingers through her hair. When he presses his lips to her throat, Sakura whimpers and grips the sheets on either side of Sasuke. He grows bolder, kisses her shoulder, puts a hand underneath her nightdress and slides it along her bare back.

“Sasuke?” she says again, her voice breaking.

This time he stops and asks, “Don’t you like this? Isn’t it what you want?”

Sakura sits up, putting some space between them (except where she’s straddling him—there they couldn’t be closer). “Of course I like it,” she says, “but I’m confused. I didn’t think you wanted me this way.”

He makes a sound that could be a laugh and says, “Then you must be blind, Sakura.”

Sasuke sits up and pulls his shirt off. She can’t help but touch him, his broadening shoulders and hard chest and flat stomach, marveling at the beauty of him, the feel of his strong body under her hands.

He kisses her, carefully at first, his lips barely brushing hers, until the fragile moment grows more heated, and he can’t seem to help but kiss her more hungrily. With a little coaxing, Sakura opens her mouth to him, lets Sasuke taste her.

They stay like this, sharing kisses, until the sky starts to lighten and golden sunlight filters through the blinds into his bedroom.

It’s Sasuke who breaks away; she’s too impassioned, too drunk with love, to think of it. Sakura touches her tender mouth, traces the lingering warmth of his kiss before it dissipates.

“We should stop,” he says, breathing heavily.

Sakura shakes her head, kisses Sasuke’s temple, his cheek, the corner of his mouth. “I don’t want to.” She’d like to stay here, in this moment, forever.

“Sakura,” he whispers, and she can hear the warning in his voice.

“What?” she asks, all innocence, even as she brushes her lips against the apple of his throat, drawing a low noise from him.

Sasuke’s grip on her tightens, becomes almost painful, and then he rolls her onto her back. Settles on top of her, his hips cradled between her thighs, and kisses her, mouth insistent and needy.

Sakura can barely believe this is happening, but she doesn’t allow herself to stop and think on it. She just wraps her legs around Sasuke, whispers loving words and holds him close, hoping she never has to let go.

* * *

Haruno Mebuki catches him in her daughter’s bed on an April morning like any other. She opens the door, saying, “Sakura, do you know where—”

But what exactly she was looking for, Sasuke never finds out, because she freezes in the doorway, eyes widened, as he and Sakura scramble away from each other. They’d been kissing when Mebuki walked in: Sasuke, shirtless, on top of Sakura, with her nightgown rucked up around her waist. Now he hurries to get out of the bed, to find his shirt and pull it on.

“Sasuke,” Mebuki says, “I think it’s time for you to go home.”

He nods, takes one last look at Sakura—blushing furiously, clearly mortified and a little bit nervous—and leaves. As he passes by the kitchen, Kizashi, who is eating breakfast at the counter, says, “Sasuke? When did you get here?”

There’s no point in lying. Mebuki will undoubtedly tell her husband everything. “I spent the night,” he says, and it’s almost funny, how quickly Sakura’s friendly father goes from puzzled to cold.

“Is that so?” Kizashi asks.

“I was on my way out,” Sasuke says.

Kizashi nods in the direction of the front door. “Don’t let me stop you.”

Sasuke returns to his apartment, where he finds Naruto has let himself in. His teammate sits on the couch, head in his hands. He looks up, blue eyes hopeful, and says, “Man am I glad to see your sorry face.”

Sasuke doesn’t honor this with a response. He goes to the kitchen, pours himself a glass of cold water, and takes a long drink.

Naruto follows him. “I was afraid you might’ve left again,” he says, “when I came by last night and you were gone.”

“You’ve been in my apartment all night?” Sasuke asks, irritated.

This is turning out to be some kind of morning.

“I was worried!” Naruto says. “Where were you anyway?”

“None of your business, dead-last.” He hopes that will get Naruto off his case, but of course it doesn’t.

“Aww, come on, you gotta tell me!” he says.

Sasuke gives Naruto his flattest stare. “Actually, I don’t. Now get out of my apartment.”

“Wanna go fight?” Naruto asks, as chipper as if Sasuke hadn’t just told him to get lost.

“No.” Sasuke is tempted, because beating up Naruto might help him blow off some steam. But he’s almost certain that Sakura will come by as soon as her parents finish scolding her, and he wants to be here when she arrives.

* * *

“How long has this been going on?” Okaasan asks, arms crossed over her chest.

“Just last night,” Sakura lies.

Her mother frowns. “Do you think I was born yesterday, Sakura? I’d bet my life this wasn’t that boy’s first night under our roof.”

Sakura rolls her eyes. “I don’t see what the big deal is anyway. It was just Sasuke-kun.”

“You don’t see—” Okaasan cuts herself off, obviously too angry to speak. Then she takes a deep breath and starts again. “The big deal is that you’ve been lying to us.”

“If I’d told you the truth, would you have let him stay over?” Sakura asks.

“Of course not,” her mother snaps. “You’re seventeen. Much too young to be spending the night with a boy.”

Sakura laughs, even though there’s nothing amusing about this. “I’ve been risking my life since I was twelve, and you never had anything to say about that. But I kiss a boy and suddenly you treat me like I’m a child.”

“You _are_ a child,” Okaasan says.

That almost makes her sad. “I haven’t been a child since my first chunin exams,” Sakura says patiently.

Okaasan shakes her head. “Even if that’s true, I wouldn’t want you seeing Sasuke.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Sakura asks, probably more sharply than she should.

“He was a rogue nin, he studied under Orochimaru—and then killed his teacher, if the rumors are true,” Okaasan says. “I know you used to love him, Sakura, but the boy you brought back to Konoha isn’t the same one who left this village three years ago. I know you’re smart enough to see that.”

There’s a little too much truth in this for Sakura’s liking, but she says, “I don’t care what he’s done. He’s still Sasuke.”

“You’re grounded. I’ll have to talk to your father to determine for how long,” her mother says, sounding more weary than angry now.

Sakura waits for Okaasan to leave. Once she’s alone, she dresses, climbs out the window, and runs all the way to Sasuke’s apartment. He opens the door after her first knock, and she wonders if he anticipated this, if he’s been waiting for her. Sasuke lets her in and asks, “How did it go?”

“Not well,” Sakura says. She hugs him, takes comfort in the warmth of his strong body. “They think I’m too young, and—” He doesn’t need to know the rest, that her mother mistrusts him.

“And what?” Sasuke asks. He wraps his arms around her, runs soothing fingers up and down her back.

“Okaasan had the nerve to say I’m still a child,” Sakura says. “Can you believe that? I’ve been a kunoichi for five years, fought dozens of shinobi, healed even more. I even helped take out one of the Akatsuki. What’s it going to take before she admits I’m not a little girl anymore?”

Sasuke lets go of her and asks, “So what are you going to do?”

Sakura puts her hands on his shoulders, gives him a soft smile. “Keep seeing you, of course. They can’t stop me. Besides, I’m going to move out soon anyway.”

Sasuke scowls. “Don’t you care what your parents think?” he asks.

“Not really,” Sakura says, shrugging. “Not when it comes to you.”

This must bother him for some reason, because Sasuke steps away from her. “Would you listen to anybody if they told you that you deserve better than me?”

“No,” Sakura says, and she tries not to be hurt by the hard way he’s looking at her.

“Because you think you love me?” Sasuke asks.  

“I don’t _think_ ,” Sakura says, and now she’s about to lose her temper. How can he possibly doubt her feelings for him? “I _know_.”

“Why?” Sasuke asks, challenging her. “Why do you love me?”

She looks up at him and asks, “Why are you being so combative?”

“Because you seem willing to just throw everything away for me,” Sasuke says, and now she knows he’s not only talking about today; he also means the night she offered to leave Konoha with him. “You have a _family_ , Sakura, and you take them for granted.”

“But you’re my family, too, Sasuke-kun,” she whispers. Sakura grips the front of his shirt, and this time he doesn’t pull away from her. “And, yes, if I have to pick between you and them, I choose you. I’ll choose you every time and never regret it.”

* * *

He watches Sakura sleep: the gentle rise and fall of her chest as she breathes, her slightly parted lips, the way her blush-colored hair spreads across a pillow.

She decided to stay the night, despite the fight with her parents, and Sasuke can’t say he’s sorry for it. He rested better with her next to him, and besides, he likes to sleep with her for its own sake. Sakura is simply a comfort to be near, whether awake or not.

_She called me her family_. Sasuke isn’t sure how to feel about that. It’s a beautiful but terrifying prospect, the possibility of having a family again, after so many years spent utterly alone.

Sakura stirs, stretches, and smiles at him. “Morning,” she says, mouth rounded on a yawn.

She slept in one of his high-collared shirts. The hem of it falls just to the top of her thighs, and when she stands he gets an excellent view of her slender legs. Sakura catches him looking and asks, all playful flirtation, “Like what you see, Sasuke-kun?” She’s near enough that he can’t help but notice the way her nipples peak beneath the thin material of his white shirt.

Sasuke stands, closes the short space between himself and Sakura, and pulls the borrowed garment over her head. It drops to the floor by their bare feet with a soft sound, and now he’s treated to the sight of a nearly naked girl. It isn’t the first time he’s seen her topless, but the experience is still new enough that Sakura’s hands fidget at her sides, like she wants to cover herself but is either too brave or too stubborn to do so. Sasuke cups her small breasts, feels the weight of her in his open palms. Maybe because this is the first time he’s looked at her like this in the full light of day, she blushes, a pretty pinkness that colors her cheeks and makes her look nervous.

He spent most of the night awake, thinking about what he’s been doing with Sakura, and he came to the conclusion that Mebuki and Kizashi have good reason to worry. Sasuke would never hurt Sakura on purpose, but he seems to excel at breaking her heart without meaning to. Still, he wants her, wants her so much that he can’t seem to stay away, and Sakura’s promises yesterday—that she loves him, that she would always choose him—have given him much to consider.

Sasuke wraps his arms around her waist and kisses her forehead. “You said you want to move out of your parents’ place,” he reminds her. “When you do, how would you like to come here?”

She looks up at him with wide eyes. “Are you sure?”

“I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t,” he says.

Sakura smiles, hugs him, and says, “Yes. Of course I’ll live with you.”

He knows it’s wrong to keep her to himself like this, but Sasuke doesn’t quite care enough about right and wrong to let her go.

Two weeks later, he helps Sakura move her things from her childhood home to his apartment. To his surprise, she doesn’t have much. Mostly just clothes, books, and ninja gear. Kizashi and Mebuki look on coolly, but when Sakura says goodbye they hug her just the same and tell her they love her.

It takes a little getting used to, sharing his space with another person. Seeing Sakura’s clothes in his closet, her medical texts on his spindly bookshelf, her toothbrush in the same cup as his own. Making meals for two instead of one. But it’s worth it to sleep beside her every night without worrying that they’ll be caught.

Early one Sunday morning, Sasuke washes a load of dirty laundry, some of it his, some of it Sakura’s. She’s just waking up, finally recovered from a twenty-four hour shift at the hospital, while he folds the clean clothes. He can’t help but smirk when he comes across a pair of black underwear emblazoned with a skull and crossbones on the front and the word “booty” on the back. When Sakura sees him holding her pirate panties, she stammers, “Those were a—a gag gift from Ino, I didn’t buy them!”

“Uh huh,” Sasuke says. She might be telling the truth, but it’s much more fun to pretend he doesn’t believe her. He plucks a lacy thong from the laundry basket and asks, “And what about these? Another gift?”

She snatches the underwear out of his hand and says, “I’ll wash my own things from now on, thanks.”

He shrugs, still amused. “If you insist.”

Sharing closet space means that Sakura sees exactly how limited Sasuke’s wardrobe is, and so a week after moving in, she insists on taking him shopping for more clothes. At first he flatly refuses, because he has no money besides the small stipend the village is providing him with for the duration of his probation, and four shirts are plenty enough. But Sakura pouts and begs so prettily that he finds himself relenting.

“This is a waste of your money,” Sasuke says.

Sakura ignores him and holds up a short-sleeved, blue shirt to his chest, measuring the garment against his body. “I think this one will fit, but you should try it on to be sure.”

“It’s fine,” Sasuke says. “Let’s just get it.”

Sakura smiles and asks, “You don’t like shopping at all, do you?”

“No.”

She sighs, then says, “Fine, let’s just get some fabric to make your clan crest with and call it a day.”

Back at the apartment, Sasuke watches her sew carefully cut Uchiha fans onto the backs of his newest shirts. It’s a job he’s always done himself—well, at least, since his family died—but he doesn’t mind Sakura’s help.

He notices that her stitches are even neater than his own. “How’d you learn to sew so well?” he asks.

Sakura threads her needle through the fabric, binding the crest to his blue shirt. “A couple of years ago I had to learn how to stitch up wounds, in case I ran low on chakra on the battlefield,” she says. “What about you? Who taught you to sew?”

“My mother,” Sasuke says evenly. He tries not to think about Okaasan’s smile, or her kind voice, or the way she looked bloodied and lifeless after Itachi had finished with her.

On the last night of his probation, Sakura turns to him in the dark and kisses the span of skin between his shoulder blades. It’s a perfect May evening, and the window is open, letting in the breeze, a warm wind that smells of spring rain and newly turned earth. Tomorrow will be Team 7’s first mission together in four years, and Sasuke is looking forward to finally getting out of Konoha.

“Are you worried about tomorrow?” Sakura asks.

“No,” he says.

There’s a long beat of silence, and then Sakura takes a deep breath, like she’s steeling herself to voice a difficult question.

“Will you make love to me?” she asks.

That must have been hard for her to say, because the words came out barely above a whisper, shaking and nervous.

Sasuke turns over so that he’s facing her and asks, “You’re certain you want that?”

Sakura nods. Moonlight casts her features in shades of muted silver. Even in this shadowed room he can read her anxiety well enough, can see how her breaths are coming too quick and shallow as she waits for his answer.

Sasuke kisses her and puts his hands beneath her short nightdress. She’s so warm and soft everywhere he touches—the round of her hips, her strong thighs and narrow waist and pert breasts. He plucks at a nipple (she’s very sensitive there, he’s discovered), just to make Sakura whimper against his mouth. Sasuke gets on top of her, and she wraps her legs around his waist, her arms around his back, pulling him flush against her body. She holds him fiercely, like she’s afraid he’ll disappear if she lets go—and really, she has good reason to fear this, because hasn’t he abandoned her once already?

He’s thought of doing this so many times, imagined touching her wherever he wants, being over her, around her, inside her. Tangled up and lost in this girl who loves him. He’s impatient, but Sasuke forces himself to go slowly, to tug her panties down her thighs gently instead of yanking them off. Sakura is pulling at his clothes too, nimble hands working to get him naked enough, until his shirt is over his head and his boxers are caught about his knees. Beneath him, she’s a mess of fading innocence and eager adoration, and he has never desired anything in his life the way he craves to be closer to her now.

Sasuke settles between Sakura’s legs, rocks against her as they kiss. She’s wet already, and the heat of her makes him grow harder still. They move together, as near to each other as they can get without being joined. She slips a hand between them, holds his cock, and gives an experimental sort of squeeze. The sensation is enough to draw a ragged groan from his throat, but Sakura captures the noise with her mouth, then slides her hand up and down the length of him with more confidence. It feels so good that things are going to end before they’ve started if she doesn’t stop, so Sasuke catches her wrist and stills her movements.

When he breaks the kiss, Sakura asks, embarrassed and breathless, “Was I doing it wrong?”

“No,” he says. “You did fine. I just really want to…” For some reason it’s hard to state his desires, so instead of speaking further, Sasuke just presses against her again.

“Okay,” she whispers. “I’m ready.”

He hopes she’s telling the truth, because the last thing he wants is to push her. Sakura opens her legs wider, allowing him to position himself between them. Then he’s pushing inside of her, and she feels so impossibly tight and warm that he can’t help but thrust. She gasps, and he feels her fingernails digging into the flesh of his shoulders, a barely-there pain that keeps him grounded.

“Does it hurt?” he asks, and Sasuke is distantly surprised by the stained sound of his own voice.

“No, not much,” Sakura says. “Mostly it feels good.” As if to punctuate this point, she lets out the softest moan, like she’s trying to hold back but can’t quite manage it.

Still, he takes her gently, keeps a steady pace, careful not to go too fast. She’s a tough girl, Sakura, and he’s certain she could take a little rough sex, but right now that isn’t what he wants. This is their first time, and he needs her to know that he cares, that she matters to him, that this means something (even if he doesn’t know what, exactly).

* * *

Sakura wakes as dawn light seeps into their bedroom. She’s still wrapped up with Sasuke, their limbs entwined, lips almost touching. She can’t help but smile and wake him with a kiss. Sasuke stirs and blinks up at her with sleepy dark eyes, and he looks so handsome and vulnerable that Sakura kisses him again, this time on the forehead.

How did she end up here? In just six months she’s gone from avoiding the boy she loves to living with him, sharing his bed. Of course, Sasuke always has had a way of turning her life inside out and upside down.

They shower together, dry each other with fluffy white towels, then climb back in bed and make love again. Damp, disheveled, they’re eager to touch everywhere, skin to skin, and it’s so sweet this time. Whatever discomfort she felt last night is gone, and there’s only pleasure in its place now.

Afterward, they lie side by side on the bed, breathing heavily. Sakura is lead-limbed, lazy, and sated, and from the look of Sasuke, he must feel much the same.

“Did you think of me, while you were away?” she asks, and as soon as the words leave her mouth, Sakura regrets voicing them. Why is she bringing up the past when the present is so good?

“Not often,” Sasuke says, and that stings more than Sakura will allow herself to show. Because, of course, she thought about him every day he was gone. The ache of his absence drove her to work harder, to become the kind of kunoichi who could bring him home; to become the kind of woman he’d never want to leave behind again.

“I couldn’t afford to,” he says. She thinks he means it to be a clarification, but Sakura only finds this more confusing.

“What do you mean?” she asks.

“I had to detach myself from Konoha, from the people who—” He pauses, then says, “From you and Naruto and Kakashi. If I didn’t let you go, I could never have faced my brother and come out of it alive. I almost didn’t anyway.”

“But you did survive, and that’s over now. So you don’t have to hold yourself apart from us anymore.” She brushes his still-wet hair away from his face, traces the line of his jaw. He’s as beautiful as he is brave, as handsome as he is strong.

“I’m trying, Sakura,” he says. “I am.”

She smiles softly and says, “I know you are. If you weren’t—well, last night would never have happened.”

Sasuke is here, and hers, and he’s working to let the people he cares for back into his heart. That’s all that matters.

* * *

Sakura looks so peaceful, sleeping. With those contradictory hands relaxed—hands made for healing as much as for wreaking devastation and destruction—it’s easy to forget how strong she is. In repose, she looks soft, delicate, almost fragile. This illusion, Sasuke knows, is far from the reality of the woman.

She’s changed so much since his defection. Sometimes it’s difficult to believe that the capable kunoichi he knows now is the same as the young girl he left behind. He remembers what she looked like that night: tear-streaked cheeks, soft hair spread across a stone bench, limbs limp. A beautiful thing abandoned, like a doll cast aside.

Sasuke managed to let her go, but he carried her words in his heart. Her admission of love, her offer to come with him. Whether he liked or not, he couldn’t rid himself of her confessions and promises. For the longest time, he considered that a weakness. A failing he was too sentimental to overcome. But these days he considers another possibility. Maybe there was some kind of strength in remembering her love, and perhaps accepting it now will help him to recapture the humanity he sacrificed to get revenge.

She’s his match, his home, the reason he hasn’t lost himself entirely. Because Sakura can help him go back to the beginning, to regain some part of the boy he was as he works his way toward the man he’s becoming.

**Author's Note:**

> The verse at the beginning of the story is from Coldplay’s “The Scientist,” which I listened to obsessively (along with “Set the Fire to the Third Bar” by Snow Patrol) while writing this fic. I’m really glad to finally share this one, because it’s been in the works for a while and I had a great time writing it. I hope you all enjoyed it.


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